Alarna
by Sarma
Summary: On Alarna, life has changed immensely for the members of SG1. Chapter Eight up now. Will Sam and Jack finally discuss what it is that has been keeping them apart? And where is Patrick? Non canon. SJ.
1. Chapter 1

ALARNA

Summary: This is non-canon, drama with Sam/Jack ship and hopefully some action/adventure thrown in. That's all I've figured out so far.

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing SG1 and their world, not for profit.

Part One:

Winter in Yalarna this year was proving to be more pleasant than the summer. The sun was high in the sky yet it shed a mild warmth that was soft and comforting, like fluffy bed covers on a cold morning. As the sun rose, the still grey mist of early day dispersed, dividing the sky and the Great Lake. Small swallow-like birds skimmed the surface of the water, splashing their feathers clean and warbling excitedly.

It was too bad he spent most of his time blowing stuff up, General Jack O'Neill mused. The weather was perfect for fishing, something he hadn't had a chance to do for quite some time now and probably never would, again. He stood looking out over the lake for a moment longer, mulling over that thought and others, before closing his eyelids slowly and pushing the images from his mind. He didn't have time to dwell.

Turning his back on the quiet and unspoiled scene of the lake surroundings, O'Neill scanned the sight below him. Rows upon rows of makeshift tents lined the dusty plain that bordered the Great Lakes' south shore, smoke from a number of campfires curling up to the clouds. Tau'ri, Tok'ra, Jaffa and Yalarnan men and women weaved their way through the camp, carrying weapons, food or garments as they performed their morning rituals. O'Neill followed some of the individuals with his eyes, watching intently as they carried on with their lives, oblivious to his gaze and the dismal deliberations flashing through his head.

In just a few hours, the camp would be deserted and half of its inhabitants dead. Who would he lose today?

Sensing movement, the General turned his neck to look over his shoulder and squinted as the sun's rays flared his sight. He shielded his eyes with his right hand, simultaneously returning the salute he received from the silhouette standing before him.

'Morning sir.'

O'Neill recognised the voice of his assistant officer. 'Sergeant Harriman,' he acknowledged casually, digging his sunglasses out of his breast pocket and dusting them off with the untucked corner of his shirt. 'Any luck getting that dune buggy I asked for?' he queried, placing his shades over his eyes as he revelled in the comfort of their running joke.

Harriman smiled half-heartedly. 'Not yet sir,' he replied in an unusually grave voice, alerting O'Neill.

'What's up?' the General commanded matter-of-factly, after taking a moment to properly survey Harriman's face, now that the sun was no longer searing his eyeballs.

'Good news and bad news, sir,' Harriman said rather hesitantly, crossing his hands behind his back. 'At approximately 02:00 this morning Camp Vanou was attacked by…'

'Vanou?' O'Neill shot his head up from the ground.

'Yes sir,' Harriman replied as firmly as he could, thankful his CO was wearing sunglasses – he couldn't bare to see the man's eyes as he took in the information Harriman had just served cold.

O'Neill's chest heaved in and out unevenly as the two men stood silent for a moment, the General unable to ask the question, unable to even entertain the idea. Camp Vanou? No… this couldn't be happening.

'There were minimal fatalities, sir,' Harriman managed to report finally; his statement loaded with the indirect information O'Neill needed to hear.

The General's anxiety faded slightly, only to be rapidly replaced by anger.

'Apparently the Jaffa defence tactics and Tok'ra tunnelling mechanisms enabled an effective escape,' Harriman spoke quickly, trying to appease the older man, despite the fact that he would rather see him angry than inert.

'Why the hell wasn't I told about this?' O'Neill bellowed, already making his way to the command tent in the area demarcated as headquarters.

Harriman didn't reply.

'What's their situation?' the General fidgeted, studying the rudimentary topography chart they had stuck to a makeshift drawing board.

'They managed to evacuate the entire settlement, sir, but there's no telling what the Zalarnan operatives have planned.'

'I want two medical teams and a platoon prepped for departure immediately!' The General's head darted around the tent as he inspected the personnel gathered before him. 'If they leave by 08:00 they could be there by 16:00. That gives us…,' he yanked his arm up and pushed his sleeve away from the face of his watch, tapping the glass impatiently despite the fact that the devise had ceased to work years ago. 'Timekeeper?' He demanded, turning to a young Yalaranan man standing just outside the tent.

'About thirty-five minutes, sir,' the man replied, without even needing to look at the sun.

'Sergeant,' O'Neill continued. 'Get Dixon in here, I want those teams ready now.'

Nobody moved.

'Sir,' Harriman began, leaning down beside the General who was bent over in anguish, one hand resting on some crates to support his body weight, the other rubbing furiously at his eyes under his shades as he tried to push away images of Vanou burnt to the ground, images of…

'What?' the General took his hand from his head and straightened up to see his people still surrounding him.

'A full rescue team led by Colonel Dixon was deployed at 05:00, directly after we received communication from Camp Vanou, sir.'

O'Neill blinked a number of times and shook his head, slightly bewildered. 'Well – it would help if you _told_ me these things Sergeant,' he griped, relieved that help was already on its way, but pissed off that he hadn't been woken when the call came through. 'Who was the genius who decided not to inform me of the situation?'

Harriman had seen this coming.

'We were ordered not to disturb you, sir.'

'Disturb me? Who the hell would…,' O'Neill stopped, realising exactly who had given the order.

'Colonel Carter assured us their situation was under control, General. She was confident they weren't being followed and that they could make it to an appropriate facility without further military support. '

O'Neill clenched his jaw, his anger building. 'Goddamn it, Harriman. In future, in the case of _any_ attack, regardless of the outcome, or the subsequent advice from other personnel, I'm ordering you to inform me of the situation immediately. Understood?'

'Yes sir.'

He walked to the open wall of the tent and drew in a long breath. For the time being his fury hid the fear. Then what? He needed to make arrangements for the transportation and relocation of an entire camp full of civilians. But where the hell was he going to send them? Camps Neeso and Entu were already over-populated, Eas and Olod were strictly military bases and Wahin was too far away. Perhaps they would have to start _another_ new settlement, _or_ re-build at the same site. They couldn't afford to surrender the land, after all. But they would have a battle on their hands.

'Would you like to hear the good news now General?' Harriman asked from behind.

'There's good news?' O'Neill turned, trying to neutralise his emotions in front of his subordinates.

'Yes sir,' Harriman managed a meek smile. 'You see, sir, Camp Vanou has been on the move since just after 04:00 and they've covered a number of miles. With the help of the rescue team they should be here within six or seven hours.'

The General tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. 'They're coming here?'

Harriman swallowed; he had thought O'Neill would be happy.

'For cryin' out loud! This is a mobile offence unit, Sergeant! We're _supposed_ to be staging an attack in four hours! How the hell are we gonna accommodate women and children?'

'Ham'lar insisted, sir. And besides, we're the closest unit.'

'Yes - we are,' O'Neill returned to the chart. He hadn't thought of the refugees coming here, probably because it was such a ridiculous notion. The unit was purely and simply an attack force – no place for women and children. 'What does Ham'lar have to do with all this?' he demanded, changing the subject.

'He and his team were transporting the most recent freight of naquadah through Camp Vanou when the attack took place. They're requesting further military support for the transfer to Olod.'

'He was transporting naquadah through Vanou?' the General hissed through his teeth. 'No wonder the camp was attacked!'

Harriman coughed and looked around the tent as a few of the MOU Tok'ra personnel stirred uncomfortably. General O'Neill had come to terms with his long, troubled history with the Tok'ra, however, there were certain individuals who continued to rile him beyond reconcile. Ham'lar was one of them. It didn't help matters that Ham'lar was one of the remaining members of the Tok'ra high council, and well respected by his peers.

'There is no way in _hell_ he'll be getting further military support.'

'Sir, safe transportation of the naquadah is beneficial to us all.'

'I'm aware of that Harriman,' O'Neill had exited the communications tent and was standing atop the same small hill he had stood on earlier, surveying the camp. 'Have you advised all CO's, Tok'ra, Jaffa and Yalarnan leaders of the refugee situation?'

'No sir, we were, uh, awaiting your orders,' Harriman replied, recognising the irony.

'Well, that's a first,' O'Neill muttered. 'Get them together and call off the attack, we're gonna need all hands on deck here.'

'Yes sir.'

'The soldiers can bivouac for tonight, and the rest of the week, if needs be. All tents and shelter are to be vacated and made ready for our guests. How many are we expecting Sergeant?'

'Ninety, tops, sir.'

'Ninety! Sheesh! I swear there were less than seventy last time I visited.'

'That was almost five months ago, sir, and a number of Yalarnan's have migrated to Vanou of late, if you recall.'

'I recall,' although recalling his most recent visit to Vanou was the last thing O'Neill wanted to do. 'We're also gonna need a temporary infirmary and mess,' he continued, making his way back to headquarters. 'Check medical and food supplies, secure the perimeter with Stage Two surveillance teams and explosives. I need navigation and a team of scouts in the command tent ready for briefing at 16:00. Also, see if you can contact one of the nearest MOU's for back-up supplies. Oh, and Harriman…'

'Yes sir?'

'I want updates on Dixon _and_ Vanou's progress.'

'Yes sir.'

After Harriman left to carry out his orders, O'Neill trudged on, making arrangements with the rest of his staff, determined not to stop, knowing that he would be assaulted with unease if he did. He was unsure of how the hell he was going to deal with the situation. However, despite the fact that he was pissed off with Carter for going over his head and Ham'lar for… for being Ham'lar, above everything, he was simply relieved. Relieved that the civilians of Vanou were okay, but more than anything, relieved that Carter and the boys were alive and well, at least that's what he had gathered from Harriman's indirect details.

Although he would have preferred it to be under better circumstances, he was glad they were coming. He longed to see them; he always longed to see them. It had been difficult, lately, and he and Carter were on bad terms. It was this damn war, he told himself – it had changed _everything_. But if he could just spend a moment with her, any moment, then life would be bearable. Even life as a General in the middle of a mindless war.

* * *

Author's note: My first ever fanfic. Please let me know what you think and if I should continue! Also, I don't mind editing tips! Your feedback is much appreciated... um, not sure what else I'm 'sposed to put in an author's note... so that will do, I guess. 


	2. Chapter 2

Alarna

Summary: This is non-canon, drama with Sam/Jack ship and hopefully some action/adventure thrown in. That's all I've figured out so far.

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing SG1 and their world, not for profit.

Rating:M (some violence, cussing and adult themes).

Part Two:

Approx. six hours later.

Ham'lar and his escorts were the first to arrive at their new lodgings, followed by the mixed inhabitants of Camp Vanou, the Jaffa warriors and finally the Tau'ri rescue team. O'Neill watched the procession from the command tent on the rise, his eyes raking the rows of figures as they filed into the camp and were sectioned off by the MOU personnel. As soon as he saw Ham'lar separated from the mass of civilians, O'Neill stormed out of the tent and headed down the hill, ignoring Harriman as he scampered behind, frantically trying to abate his CO.

Down on the plain, Colonel Dixon and his men were showing Ham'lar and the Tok'ra transportation team their bivouac site for the night. O'Neill had demanded that all personnel shelters, including his own, be evacuated for the use of the civilians, as well as for a makeshift infirmary and a larger mess. The last thing they wanted was the threat of disease and illness spreading throughout the camp, and civilians were the most susceptible.

Dixon stood back, chatting with his 2IC as one of the MOU Tok'ra tried to explain the sleeping arrangements to the irate high council member. During communication O'Neill had ordered Colonel Dixon to stay at Ham'lar's side and ensure the Naquadah was untouched, until he arrived. There was a dangerous edge to the General's voice that the Colonel had only heard on rare occasions, and he was glad he would not be on the receiving end of O'Neill's ire.

All around them the camp was alive with activity. Lines of civilians stretched between the rows of tents and through the cleared parade ground back over the hill from which they'd come. The MOU personnel rushed around, guiding people to their quarters, helping the wounded to the infirmary, amassing supplies and belongings in the centre of the camp and generally organising the state of affairs. There were children everywhere, crying, laughing, staring silently or exploring recklessly.

And through the chaos of dirt, blood, ragged tents, tattered personal possessions and weary, war-torn warriors, a formidable figure in an old, faded, patchy pair of desert cammos and dark glasses stormed towards Dixon, Ham'lar and the men surrounding them, dust clouds rising in his wake.

As O'Neill approached, a number of Tok'ra moved in to protect Ham'lar, but this did not stop the General.

'What the hell did you think you were doing?' he roared, furiously, clearing his way through the pack and shoving his enraged face directly at Ham'lar's. Despite the Tok'ra's considerable height, O'Neill loomed above him, his eyes dark and insidious beneath threatening eyebrows.

The Tau'ri and Tok'ra encircled the two men, instinctively trying to hide the confrontation from the civilians and other soldiers. The General was fighting hard to control himself and act in a professional manner, but Dixon knew the man's tolerance wouldn't last much longer. O'Neill couldn't care less about his relationship with Ham'lar and the high council, but he was aware that he may not be setting the best example for his men and the refugees in the camp. For this reason, and this reason alone, he restrained himself from beating the living crap out of the lousy snakehead standing before him. And he was doing quite well – until Ham'lar spoke.

'I was merely ensuring the safe transportation of the Naquadah from one location to the next, as my mission outlined. '

'What about the safety of these women and children, huh? Did your mission say anything about _jeopardising their lives_?' O'Neill fumed, his eyes ablaze.

Ham'lar took a step backward, trying to evade the look of wrath on the General's face. 'They were not our priority'.

It took only a breath for O'Neill to react.

'You son-of-a…,' he snarled, tearing off his cap and rushing Ham'lar once more. 'You _know_ the policy,' his eyes narrowed as he grabbed the Tok'ra by the front of his tunic and shoved him backward, forcing him roughly against the supply cart of Naquadah behind them. O'Neill drew his arm back rapidly, ready to slam his fist into Ham'lar's face, but just as his knuckles were about to collide with the Tok'ra's nose a voice from behind made him pause in mid-punch.

'Jack?'

O'Neill turned in slow motion, his face still etched with anger, but that voice… the sound of that sweet, strong voice…. He inhaled sharply as his adrenaline enlarged eyes panned the circle of men surrounding him and stopped on a figure making its way through the mob towards him.

She walked straight to him with confidence, until all he could see was her face in close-up – lips pressed shut, eyes wide and determined, pleading in silent command. He roamed her face with his eyes for what felt like hours, examining every inch until the desire to touch her was too strong and he had to turn away. He shook his head, relapsing into real time and looking from his fist to Ham'lar's face and back again as he realised what he had been about to do.

For the men and women watching, it seemed O'Neill had only glanced briefly at Colonel Carter before turning back to Ham'lar and reluctantly withdrawing his hold on him. He stared in indignation at the Tok'ra's chest, certain that if he looked in his eyes he might feel the overwhelming desire to shoot him. Signalling with his hands for some of the men to get Ham'lar the hell away from him, O'Neill stepped back, looking at the ground for a second before turning to face Carter once more.

That's when he first noticed the sleeping toddler nestled comfortably on her hip with his head tucked into her collarbone and his small arms curled loosely around her neck. Ryan.

O'Neill shuddered with relief, closing his weary eyelids and pursing his lips. He had almost lost them – again. God, he hated that feeling - the powerlessness and despair. Anyone would think he'd be used to it by now. He'd been through it plenty of times before – first with Charlie, and then Kawalsky… the list went on. He couldn't bare Carter leaving him, not like that. And to think his last words to her could have been the callous things he'd said when they'd last parted. He was a fool.

Jack cleared his throat and looked up again, attempting to transform himself back into the hard-edged General O'Neill that people had come to expect of him lately. Carter, recognising the familiar change of his features, frowned briefly and did the same, replacing the pleading on her face with a stern detachment. He didn't know how she did it - remained so objective and disciplined with a child on her hips and a desperate husband in front of her. It took every ounce of his being to pretend there were more important things on his mind than his family.

She had always been the stronger one.

From somewhere beside them, Harriman spoke, breaking the silence and their shared thoughts. 'Uh… sir? We're receiving transmission from MOU-2.'

'Take a message,' O'Neill replied gruffly, annoyed that their moment had been disturbed.

'General, it's Teal'c,' Harriman added. 'And he wants to speak with you.'

O'Neill flashed a fleeting look at Carter, his eyes asking her for forgiveness and permission to leave at the same time. But he needn't have bothered. Her face was already masked with indifference and strangely enough, she almost seemed to urge him to leave. Like she didn't want him to be there, like she didn't want to have the conversation they _may_ have been about to have.

Taking a half step forward, the General made as if to reach out and touch his son's warm cheek, but retreated at the last moment, turning away from his wife and child to climb the hill, barking orders at Dixon and Harriman as he marched off.

'Remove that Naquadah cart, Colonel. I want it secluded away from the shelters under constant surveillance – and keep your eyes on that snakehead. Sergeant!' Harriman snapped into synchronisation behind O'Neill. 'Arrange a briefing with the representative leaders of all factions for 18:00. That bastard Ham'lar's gonna pay for this.'

Inside the communications tent, O'Neill turned to a handheld Gou'ald communication device with white noise displayed on the grey screen. The visual component had been fried long ago, but thanks to some Carteresque alterations, they were still able to use the devices for audio communications within Yalarna and sometimes further. It didn't always work, of course, but that was technology all round, according to the General.

'MOU-2 this is MOU-1, come in?' O'Neill spoke into the sphere.

There was a faint crackling followed by the unmistakable sound of Teal'c's voice.

'O'Neill. It is good to hear your voice.'

'Ditto, T,' O'Neill replied, letting a small wave of reassurance flow throughout his body. There was something about the Jaffa's manner that always helped him clear his mind and regain his confidence. The man was a rock.

'Sergeant Harriman has assured me that your family is safe.'

O'Neill winced, and glanced around the tent. He wasn't keen on discussing his private life over the "two-way" with a tent full of military personnel present. 'They're fine,' he answered hurriedly, knowing the big man would understand. 'How's your progress?'

'We have compiled over a month's worth of provisions and a supply team is currently en route to your location.'

'What's their ETA? Over.'

'They should arrive within five hours, O'Neill.'

The General nodded, pleased with his friend's diligence.

'Are you sure you do not require assistance in relocating the civilians?' the Jaffa continued.

'Thanks Teal'c, but we're crowded enough as it is. Any word on the Zalarnan's?'

'Our scouts have detected zero activity within the perimeters of our patrol. Do you wish us to continue to the next zone?'

'Negative. Stay where you are for now, T. I'm calling off all offensive operations in the north-west region. When the Zalarnan's realise how vulnerable we are right now, they _will_ attack. Our number one priority is to protect these people. In the mean time, we're gonna need all the help we can get re-building Vanou.'

The two of them discussed plans, O'Neill content to be distracted from thoughts of his family and grateful he had Teal'c to question his decisions and give advice. He often missed his old team and the honest, trustworthy interaction they had shared. It made him uneasy the way his current personnel seemed to follow his authority unquestionably, except when influenced by a certain Colonel, of course. Their categorical subordination scared him – it left him with all responsibility and no room for making mistakes. Plus, it meant they weren't confident using their own noggins to work things out for themselves, and that was something he had _always_ encouraged.

'What of the Naquadah transport, O'Neill?' Teal'c asked, garnering an agitated grunt from the other end of the receiver. 'Will you be authorising the continuation of the operation?'

'We'll send it back with your boys. You can arrange for it to reach Olod.'

'And Ham'lar?' Harriman had informed Teal'c of the Tok'ra's disregard for procedure.

'He'll get what's comin' to him.' O'Neill stated plainly, not caring about the reactions he received from the Tok'ra in the tent.

'It would not be wise to take matters into your own hands, O'Neill. Ham'lar's punishment must be revised by the board.'

'Damn the board,' O'Neill grumbled. 'That bastard could have gotten the entire camp of civilians killed.'

'That is correct. However, if you intervene with the course of justice it is likely you will be dissatisfied with the outcome.'

O'Neill scrunched his forehead in confusion, not quite sure if he fully understood the implication of Teal'c's words. 'Right,' he muttered, jerking to the side as he felt a tap on his shoulder.

'Sir, you have a briefing in fifteen with the navigation and scout teams,' Harriman reminded him.

O'Neill nodded. 'Listen T, I gotta go. We'll keep you informed. Out.'

'Understood, O'Neill. Give my regards to Colonel Carter.'

The General couldn't help but smile ever so slightly as their connection was severed. Teal'c knew him all too well, and _always_ had the last word - even if that last word was a simple, yet wildly illustrative 'indeed'.

* * *

AN: Hope you like this next part. Please review, as it keeps me writing! It's a little drawn out, but I promise things will be explained... 


	3. Chapter 3

ALARNA

Summary: This is non-canon, drama with Sam/Jack ship and hopefully some action/adventure thrown in. That's all I've figured out so far.

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing SG1 and their world, not for profit.

Rating:M (some violence, cussing and adult themes).

Dedicated to: My sister, who got me on to Stargate and is my motivation for writing fanfic.

CHAPTER THREE

It was late afternoon in the refugee camp and Colonel Carter was helping Dr Fraiser in the temporary hospital tent; dressing wounds, administering drugs and consoling patients – all of them people she knew. Every now and again she would lift her head, distracted by an excited squeal coming from the parade ground outside the tent where the children played, blissfully unaware of their situation.

Little Ryan O'Neill was one of the youngest children in the camp. He had woken from his nap a while ago and was squatting in the dirt, clapping his hands and bouncing on his heels in delight as the older children danced around in front of him. Standing protectively behind Ryan with his arms crossed was a boy of about eight who remained aloof from the group, watching in silence.

After helping Fraiser dress a semi-critical burns patient and remove a large wooden piece of shrapnel from a little girl's leg, Carter needed a break. She ventured outside the tent for some fresh air, directing her gaze towards the two boys. When the elder one spotted her standing outside the infirmary, he slipped his arm under Ryan's shoulder, hoisted him gently to his feet and guided him to her side. Although Ryan was initially annoyed at being torn from his entertainment, he was comfortable with the older boy's supervision and his discontent disappeared when he, too, spotted his mother. He moved towards her as quickly as he could on his little legs, the older boy, still holding him for support, scurrying behind.

'It's okay Patrick,' Carter offered. 'Let him play.'

But Ryan was already at his mother's feet, peering up at her with his arms extended, one leg jigging impatiently as he pleaded with his beaming brown eyes to be picked up. The Colonel reached down and swung him onto her hips where he immediately embraced her neck, pulling his podgy cheek against her nose for a kiss.

'Mummy,' he chirped, sitting back in her arms and letting go of her neck so that he could shove his dust caked hands in her face. 'Wook,' he waved his palms. 'Derdy.'

'Yes,' Carter replied, not bothering to wipe away the grime. 'You are dirty.' She knew how much the little guy loved being grubby, besides, it would be futile to try and clean him. He would only be rolling on the ground again once she released him.

Fascinated with his filthy fingers, Ryan began studying them like a scientist studying some exciting new technology. Carter shifted her attention to the older boy and watched as he watched the other kids play. He was quiet and withdrawn, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. She smiled subtly and gently pulled at a broken piece of leaf caught in his hair, combing the strand back into place with her fingers as Patrick turned sharply, surprised. Carter relished in the stolen touch, it was not often her eldest son permitted her affection. He flashed her a slightly vexed look and returned to his thoughts.

'Where's Hunter?' she asked casually, hitching Ryan higher on her hips as he prattled away to himself, still engrossed with his grubby hands.

Patrick kept his eyes turned in the opposite direction. 'Over there,' he pointed with his finger to the far side of the parade ground where a group of Jaffa were training with Mashaks, a small audience of young boys surrounding them. Carter allowed herself a small grin. She should have known.

In the corner of her eye she caught Ryan about to stick a grimy finger into his mouth as part of his experimentation. 'Uh!' she exclaimed, retrieving the finger. 'Yuck'.

'Yuck,' Ryan repeated, doe-eyed and fully aware of the tone in his mother's voice. 'Yuck, yuck, yuck!' He clapped his hands together playfully.

Inside the infirmary, Fraiser called Carter's name desperately, alerting both her and Patrick, who turned and finally looked her in the eye. Feeling guilty that she couldn't stay, Carter reluctantly handed Ryan into Patrick's able care. The older boy accepted his baby brother with no complaints, but continued staring expectantly at his mother, as if waiting for her excuse.

'Dr Fraiser needs me,' she gave it, feebly, knowing her boys needed her just as much, if not more. 'I won't be long,' she took the risk and placed her hand affectionately on Patrick's arm, both of them knowing it would actually be a few hours before she could get away.

The older boy simply looked from her hand on his arm back to her face and shrugged.

'Stay around the parade ground, okay? And keep in sight of the infirmary,' she finished, knowing he already knew this but waiting for his nod anyway, before heading back into the tent.As his mother walked away, Patrick shifted his hold on his brother and stood rooted to the spot, watching her leave. He was getting used to watching his parents leave.

General O'Neill stood, once more, on the hill above the camp, bathed in the amber light of the dying sun. Behind him under the old, worn canvas of the command tent, the leaders of each faction were gathering together to discuss strategies. He could hear them disagreeing already. Right now, tactics and politics were the last things on O'Neill's mind. But, apparently, he had a duty. In fact, he had a number of duties. However, the whole 'leader of the Tau'ri' thing seemed to take precedence over everything else, including his 'duties' as a father and a husband, much to O'Neill's disgust.

He had never wanted this - never asked for it. He and Carter had planned to lead a simple life. They had started anew, afresh, from scratch, zip, zilch, nothing – literally. They had made a new family, a new life… together, far away from regulations and the unremittent threat of Gou'ald attack. But it was all too good to last.

Things changed, as they always did. They discovered the Naquadah and with the discovery the Tau'ri, Tok'ra and Jaffa divided. Some wanted to stay and live out the lives they had made for themselves on Alarna, others wanted to use the Naquadah to try and find a way off the planet and back to their home worlds, or what was left of them.

As husband and wife, O'Neill and Carter had also butted heads over the Naquadah discovery. He wanted to leave well enough alone, there was nothing for them to return to, after all, and they had their new life here, complete with its own challenges and dilemmas. Carter agreed, mostly, but she was torn between being a mother and a wife as well as a highly valuable scientist who wanted to help the others achieve their goals too. They argued their way into a comfortable compromise, and life returned to 'normal'. Then the Zalarnan's discovered the truth about the Yalarnan intergalactic immigrants, and the Naquadah. The war began; the races were united once more, in battle; and everything changed, _again_.

Now O'Neill was up here, readying himself for the bureaucratic bunkum he was about to endure, while Carter was down in the camp with their boys taking on the full responsibility of both parents and most likely doing an expert job of it. Carter never failed. She may have made mistakes, but she always followed through.

There were times when he actually wished it was like it used to be, back on Earth, at the SGC, in the USAF. Sure, they could never be together like they were here, not that they were _together_ much these days, Jack mused. He just missed having her by his side constantly, constructing wacky ideas and covering his six, especially at times like this.

Everybody knew diplomacy was not the General's strongpoint. Not that he was even going to _try_ being diplomatic tonight - quite the contrary actually. Apart from the obvious supply and defence issues related with maintaining the MOU as a refugee camp, O'Neill had called this meeting for one express purpose. He intended to ensure that Ham'lar got what he deserved for endangering the lives of the men, women and children of Vanou, and in particular Carter and their boys. Put plainly, he wanted to see Ham'lar burn… until there was nothing left but a nice, neat pile of symbiote ash.

Back when the Tau'ri, Tok'ra and Jaffa survivors had arrived on Alarna and were welcomed by the liberal and ever inquisitive Yalarnan's, the four races came to establish The Board. Combined of representatives from each of the four groups and accountable to the people, The Board took great pains to bring into being the few laws that they had all agreed to uphold. Unity was their number one priority, followed by cultural preservation and growth. The very survival of the Tau'ri, Jaffa, Tok'ra and Yalarnan races depended on their future generations and Ham'lar had just… what? Forgotten? Not even O'Neill was that dense.

After Hunter had come darting up to her for the fifth time in the last forty minutes, punching and kicking the air in a demonstration of his new found skills, Carter decided she should probably take her boys to the mess tent for their evening meal. Most of the patients had been catered for as best as possible and were now trying to get settled for the night. As far as casualties went, they had been lucky, although the injured parties probably didn't think so. There were five dead, and less than ten suffering critical wounds. It was fortunate they had anticipated the attack when they did or many more would have been killed.

Before leaving, Carter searched around the tent for Fraiser, who had just been relieved for a couple of hours. She found her friend sorting crates of stock that had been dumped outside the shelter by the soldiers.

'I thought you were on a break,' Carter inquired dubiously.

'We're running out of analgesics,' Fraiser replied, her lips pursed in careful consideration.

Carter sighed; her friend was working too hard. 'I'm taking the boys for their meal, want to join us?'

'Thanks Sam, but these crates need sorting.'

'You should eat something,' Carter responded, her motherly instinct kicking in automatically. She found it hard to lock away these days.

'Yes, _Mum_,' Fraiser smiled and stopped what she was doing. 'I suppose I should.'

The boys were sitting on the ground in a back corner of the infirmary tent, as far away from beds, patients and meds as they could be. Patrick was wedged against the corner of the shelter with his legs spread out before him and Ryan on his thigh. The toddler toyed with a knotted piece of rope that his older brother had given him, chewing sloppily and tugging at it in an attempt to undo the ties. Every now and again he rubbed the back of his tiny palms over his tired eyes and blinked away the sleep.

Hunter was somehow still full of energy. 'Let me show you,' he said, grabbing the knotted rope from Ryan's hands as the little boy opened his mouth wide to yawn. Hunter was bored with watching.

But Ryan wasn't about to give up his toy. He glared at his brother crossly, imitating the face he'd seen his mother display when Hunter did something naughty, which was quite often. 'Dat mine!' he hollered, in true O'Neill fashion. 'Dat mine!'

'Give it back to him,' Patrick ordered unemotionally as he tried to shush the toddler by rubbing his stomach and back simultaneously.

'He can't undo it.'

'It doesn't matter,' Patrick was in control. 'It keeps him quiet'.

Hunter reluctantly returned the piece of rope, which Ryan snatched from his hands sulkily, turning his face into Patrick's chest so he could ignore his other brother.

From the middle of the tent a figure moved towards them.

'Come on boys,' their mother appeared. 'Let's get some food.'

Hunter jumped to his feet instantaneously, almost bowling her over as he threw his arms around the top of her legs and buried his head in her thighs. Ryan, having heard his mother's voice, also spun into action, his face disintegrating into tears of exhaustion and relief.

'Mummy,' he wailed, his arms outstretched.

Carter stroked her hand across Hunter's head and shuffled forward a little so that she could reach over for her baby son, who was about to begin bawling.

Ryan was clingier than the other two had ever been, Carter mused as she hugged him to her and kissed away his tears. As soon as he was in her arms he quietened. She blamed herself for his adherence. As a baby she was sure he had sensed her anxiety in caring for him. Plus, he hadn't had his father around as much as Patrick and Hunter, which made her even more overprotective. They had not planned to have a child during the war, in fact, had they known the war would occur, they may not have had _any_ children at all. Carter shook away her thoughts. It made her sad to think of life without their boys, yet she felt, deep down, that she would have preferred _not_ to have them, rather than drag them through this traumatic existence.

Still, they had coped magnificently and she really couldn't imagine life without them. In fact, she found it hard to even remember who she was before having the boys, before the war began, before Jack, before coming to Alarna, and before Earth had been blown into tiny little bits of space debris.

Their lives had changed so dramatically from Earth to Alarna and then from peace to war, it was like she had died and been reincarnated as the same person, only… different. It was like they were living in alternate, alternate realities. And some times, it was far too much for her to handle, alone.

* * *

AN: I just want to say thanks to my Beta -TotallyShipper for all her knowledge,encouragement, endless Stargate discussions, and fuel for thought.Also to my sister, who is my motivation for writing this. Hope you are all enjoying the story so far - questions, suggestions, criticisms and glowing praise smilesall welcome... I'd love to hear from you. Next chapter up soonish, well as soon as RL allows me time. Cheers :) 


	4. Chapter 4

Alarna

Summary: This is non-canon, drama with Sam/Jack ship and hopefully some action/adventure thrown in. That's all I've figured out so far.

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing SG1 and their world, not for profit.

Rating:M (some violence, cussing and adult themes).

Dedicated to: My sister, who got me on to Stargate and is my motivation for writing fanfic.

Chapter Four

O'Neill couldn't handle much more of this. They'd been going round in circles for two hours now despite the fact that everything he'd needed to say he'd said in the first twenty minutes of the meeting. It wasn't like him to beat around the bush. His few years of service with the Yalarnan military, however, had taught O'Neill a lot about the people. Namely, they loved to labour over issues, debating them painstakingly from every angle before making decisions – which was great for democracy, but not highly efficient in the middle of a war. It was the one thing about the people of this country that frustrated O'Neill, despite the fact that he admired their system of consensus. If only the process was a little more brisk. O'Neill _liked_ brisk, especially in relation to meetings.

Before the call to arms he had settled into the Yalarnan way of life quite easily, perhaps a little too easily for his friends' liking. The Yalarnan's were a relatively uncomplicated and friendly society made up of self-sufficient pastoralists and skilled tradespeople who had little desire for material possessions and achieved status in the community through their hard work, honesty, goodwill and civility. O'Neill, a country boy at heart, fit right into the Yalarnan picture of an ideal inhabitant.

The rest of SG-1 and the survivors of the Alpha site had a little more trouble acclimatising. O'Neill put it down to his numerous experiences being trapped off-world in alien locations with little or no chance of returning to Earth. Only this time, there was no doubt he would _not_ be returning, because there _was_ no Earth. That fact alone made the adjustment even easier, for him anyway.

For most of the others, it was a little different. It had taken Carter, for example, a lot longer and loads of 'coaxing' to accept their situation and become comfortable with their new surroundings, although since then she had blossomed into a fine citizen and a loving wife and mother to boot. When O'Neill pictured her wearing her traditional hand-made Yalarnan garments, one son on her hip and two at her side, it was hard to believe she was a whiz bang astro-physicist slash scientific mastermind who could fire a P-90 with deadly accuracy, blow up a sun, build Naquadah generators among other alien technologies, and endure the most brutal forms of torture known to humankind. Often, when he remembered the past, O'Neill thought about the woman Sam used to be and wondered if she regretted the path she had taken with him. She had sacrificed so much to lead this life. He'd wanted to ask her on _oh_ _so many_ occasions, but had been afraid that she would confirm his suspicions.

As for Teal'c, he still stood out from the crowd, it was hard _not_ to notice the big man, but he had found his niche here as a Master of Jaffa martial arts, training Yalarnan men and women in the spiritual and physical disciplines of his people. When the war began, Teal'c had joined the fight against the Zalarnan's as an instructor and strategist. Later, after O'Neill had rather reluctantly taken part and rose quickly through the ranks, Teal'c was given command of his own MOU on the General's recommendation. As leader of MOU-2 Teal'c was in his element and had proven to be the best 2IC O'Neill had ever served alongside, bar his lovely Colonel Samantha Carter, of course.

Daniel had also found his place in their new world. It had, of course, taken him time to get over the shock of losing everything, _again_, but his curiosity about Yalarnan culture and history eventually drew him out of his misery. His passionate inquisition into the Yalarnans' past had not only helped the assimilation process for himself and the other newcomers, it had also led to the unity of the races, the formation of the board and the discovery of the Naquadah. It was simply unfortunate that these events had also led to the war. Daniel was now a 'head honcho' – one of the two Tau'ri representatives on The Board, in Wahin. The other representative was Colonel Davis.

So, they had all gradually come to terms with their abrupt displacement and had settled into life on Alarna, only to have the war throw a spanner in the works after they had spent but six or so years on the planet. And now O'Neill was here in the command tent, stuck listening to the same conversation on replay when he could be devising defence tactics, reviewing the supply situation or more importantly, sitting and eating with Sam and the kids. It had been too long since they had sat and had a meal together as a _normal_ family. Not that you could really call the mush they were dishing out at the mess a _meal_, nor the circumstances they were living in _normal_.

While the Yalarnan's tried very hard to be fair and open-minded, their often blinding sense of integrity sometimes got in the way of important decision making and as a result, change was slow to occur. This may have suited O'Neill's somewhat 'old-fashioned' and laid back view of life in general, but it did not suit his attitude towards war. The only good war, if there was such a thing, was a short war. Choices had to be made in the heat of the moment, without long deliberation, and often they were not _nice_ choices to make. O'Neill had learnt this lesson during his years in black ops and as a CO at the SGC. Being the biggest and the strongest wasn't always the key to winning, sometimes you had to make some educated guesses, take some life threatening risks and make a hell a lot of sacrifices. How many times had they saved Earth on one of Carter's whims? Not that it had mattered in the end.

As he toyed with a piece of torn tent flap, O'Neill actually found himself wishing he were sitting in on Asgard/Gou'ald negotiations rather than being here with his 'head of staff' trying to decide on a plan of action regarding the refugee situation. While the fate of Vanou's women and children was extremely important, it wasn't like they were debating the origin of the Universe, and it wasn't like they had an infinite amount of time to do it in either. Yet the Yalarnan's were dissecting every hypothetical cause and effect to the nth degree, going over and over the possibilities until O'Neill swore he was stuck in some kind of repetitive time loop device like the one he and Teal'c had experienced on P4X-639. Days like this reminded O'Neill of the late, great George Hammond. Had he known how hard it was to be a General he would have tried to be less of a pain in the arse. At least, he would have tried harder.

The heads of staff continued to put forward their opinions.

'They should never have left Vanou. It would have been much simpler for us to come to them, and now we have lost the zone.'

'It was the correct thing to do at the time. They could not have stayed and fought.'

'Whatever the reason, we need to regain the zone and rebuild the settlement.'

'But what of the Zalarnan strike force? We cannot proceed until we know for sure they will not advance to our current position or worse still – take advantage of our vulnerability and attack us while we're on the move.'

'The supplies we have here will never suffice for so many. We need to relocate, now.'

The noise inside the tent rose higher as a number of personnel spoke at the same time - the sound of their voices increasing as they tried to speak over each other.

'Gahhh,' O'Neill muttered from his end of the tent, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. The voices stopped and he lifted his eyes cautiously, expecting glares, and receiving them. He had grumbled a little louder than intended.

'Excuse us, General O'Neill,' Togaia, Counsellor of Vanou, directed at him pointedly. 'Is there something you would like to add?'

'Yeah, there is… déjà vu.'

'I'm sorry?' Togaia cocked her head inquisitively. 'What exactly are you saying General?'

'I'm saying… we've been over this already!' O'Neill thrust both hands forward to gesture his point. 'Do we have a verdict yet?' his expression met blank faces. 'Verdict… results… conclusion… decision! Have we decided on any course of action? Anything?' he needed a break.

'Of course, General. We have decided to send Ham'lar to Olod with the Naquadah.'

'That was three hours ago!' he _definitely_ needed a break. 'I'm calling a recess until 22:00,' he said in exhalation. 'Get some air people. I want a plan of action devised by no later than midnight tonight. We're gonna have to speed up the process by… light years!'

Sam closed her eyelids, tilted her chin up and stretched her head to the side slowly, trying to ease the knot of tension twisting across her shoulders and up her neck. She straightened out her right leg and clenched and unclenched her toes in her boots, careful not to stir Ryan as he slept with his head rested on the inside of her left thigh, one arm thrown loosely around her hips, the other curled beside him and tucked under his chin. Her mouth widened into a tired smile as she examined his pose. He looked so cosy. She didn't want to disturb him, but sooner or later she'd have to move. It felt so secure with him sleeping in her lap, but she couldn't stay like that all night. Her leg would go numb. She traced a finger lightly across his cheek and down the, as yet, undefined line of his jaw.

The three of them had done so well over the past twenty-four hours, she thought, as her eyes trailed to the other two sleeping boys lying on the soft, sandy ground beside her. After all the noise and violence of the attack last night, she had wondered how they would fare in the journey to the MOU. The younger two were often unpredictable in their actions. However, although Ryan's sensitivity and Hunter's hyperactivity kept her occupied, it was Patrick's demeanour that usually caused Carter to fret. Mood swings and restlessness she could handle – she'd received enough practice putting up with Jack – but indifference?

It was odd, Jack and her had spent years hiding their feelings from each other and were again, but when it came to her son's impassiveness, something churned away inside Carter's stomach. She knew he was probably only reflecting what he observed in the real world, between his parents. They _tried_ to shed the military shroud when they spent time together as a family, not that it was often these days, but it was so _hard_. Cracking the shell for just a moment meant letting down your guard, and there was no room for that during a war. Yet they didn't want their boys to be denied the love they really did feel for them but were afraid to show.

When she thought about the way she and Jack handled their emotions with the boys, Carter was reminded of her own father and the way in which he had treated her throughout childhood and during the loss of her mother. Although thoughts of her Dad made her sad, Sam came to understand the reasons behind his coldness, the distance he kept between them. It was a survival tactic, she decided, to help him cope with the situation and put on a brave face in front of her. She only wished she didn't have to use it on her own children.

Sam combed her fingers tenderly through Ryan's soft, browny-blondish mane, watching the rise and fall of Hunter's chest as he lay on his back, arms and legs flung awkwardly in every direction. Even in his sleep he was restless. As she shifted her gaze to Patrick's slumbering frame, Carter sensed movement to her side. She turned her neck slowly, lifting her eyes to the open end of the temporary shelter they were sharing with Janet, who was currently at the infirmary, and Jen and her two children, who were asleep. A tall silhouette stood framed by the moonlit night outside, head stooped to one side slightly so that it might fit beneath the low roof of the structure.

Jack.

He took a tentative step forward, one hand pushing palm up on the material of the ceiling to give himself some extra height. As he came closer shards of moonlight streamed through the rips in the roof and illuminated his face, exposing the apprehension in his eyes. For a second they stared at each other, a wave of unspoken emotions flooding over them. Then he looked away to the ground, severing the connection and transforming back into the General by force of habit.

He had come just to _see_ them, for his own sake as much as theirs. But, when he looked at them asleep and vulnerable it made him think of the attack on Vanou, of what could have happened, of what _might_ happen tomorrow or the next day or in the near future. And he became agitated and glanced at her and the first thing that popped into his head, apart from the thought that _he_ would like to be asleep like Ryan with his head on her thigh, was the order she had given that morning after the attack. And before he could even stop to think, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

'Why the _hell_ did you order Harriman not to wake me?' he questioned in a gruff but hushed voice.

* * *

A/N: Hope it's living up to your expectations. Please review, even if you want to say something critical, I don't mind, in fact it helps me go on. I'm having a lot of trouble with the next chapter, as it's the two of them discussing things... well... _not_ discussing things actually! Please let me know if you have any ideas/expectations of how their conversation should go down... cause I need some hints! Thanks everybody and especially my beta, TotallyShipper, and my sis. Cheers! 


	5. Chapter 5

ALARNA

Summary: This is non-canon, drama with Sam/Jack ship and hopefully some action/adventure thrown in. That's all I've figured out so far.

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing SG1 and their world, not for profit.

Rating:M (some violence, cussing and adult themes).

Dedicated to: My sister, who got me on to Stargate and is my motivation for writing fanfic.

CHAPTER FIVE

An all too familiar silence filled the gap between them as Jack grimaced, cursing himself for taking the easy option and berating her. He turned to the side, one hand on his hip, the other covering his eyes as he let out a deep breath and tried to level his nerves. Who'd have thought someone with his life experiences and skill in battle could be so bad at simple conversation? Saying the right thing in this situation seemed like the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. But in the end, he didn't need to; Sam saved him, as usual.

'How are the negotiations coming?' she asked, her blues never meeting his.

'Peachy,' he replied bitterly, without a hint of a smile. Sometimes it pissed

him off the way she evaded confrontation with him, but tonight, behind his outer resentment there was relief. He didn't want to argue, he wanted to… his eyes wavered to the sleeping boys.

Following his gaze, Sam smiled lovingly at their sons and gently curled a wave of hair from Ryan's face. 'They've had a big day,' she said with pride in her voice.

'We all have,' Jack returned his eyes to hers briefly, the old flash of concern crossing his face, before looking down at the ground again.

There was another pause.

'I'm sorry Jack,' Sam said after long deliberation. 'I don't know why I asked Walter not to disturb you, I guess I just… I didn't want you to overreact. Besides, there was nothing to be done.' She had never intended to apologise for giving the order, but she suddenly decided she wanted the agony of this 'non-argument' to be done and gone. They spent so much time not saying things that needed to be said. She'd had enough of that back on Earth. After all the pain of the past five months plus the physical and mental exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours, Sam was tired of playing games.

'Overreact?' he questioned with a soft growl.

'Like with Ham'lar.'

'That good-for-nothing snakehead deserved everything he had coming to him!' Jack's voice rose. Beside them, Hunter shifted in his sleep. The two of them froze and watched silently until he resettled. 'You _know_ he disobeyed policy,' Jack continued after he knew it was safe, taking a subtle step towards her and lowering his voice once more.

He was right. Ham'lar had broken one of the golden rules of The Board. In fact, ever since the Tok'ra and his entourage had arrived at Vanou with the Naquadah the whole thing had been plaguing Carter's mind. It wasn't like they were in an emergency situation or needed supplies. So why would he make such an obvious mistake? Even with his connections on the High Council and The Board, there was no way Ham'lar could have weaselled his way out of this one. There had to be something else involved.

'When's the debriefing?' Sam asked suddenly.

'0800 tomorrow,' Jack replied, looking at her from the side, a little surprised at the abrupt change of subject. He had expected her to defend the Tok'ra, or at least give some justification for the whole incident.

'I want to be there,' she stated.

Jack's first thought was 'what about the boys?' but then he looked around the tent at Hailey and her children sleeping and remembered how many people his wife had around her, close to her, supporting her. Supporting her like a husband should be. Shaking his guilty thoughts from his head he looked back at her and noticed her face had changed into an expression he hadn't seen for quite a while. The 'there's something missing from this quantum physics equation and I'm gonna find out what it is' expression.

Jack lifted his head and raised one eyebrow in true Teal'c style, studying his wife quizzically as a rush of thoughts filled his head. It would be good to have her in the debriefing, like old times. Besides, apart from Rak'nor, Sam was the highest ranking 'non-Yalarnan' representative from the camp and it would pay to hear her experienced military opinion.

Jack eyed her a little longer, trying to figure out what was going through that pretty head of hers, but also revelling in the simple pleasure of watching her. She was so close, and yet, so untouchable. Finally he nodded his consent and turned his attention back to their boys.

'How are they _really_?' he asked, somewhat tentatively, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

It took a second for Sam to respond to the change of tone in the conversation, but she soon sensed that her husband had calmed down a little and might actually be able to reason now. 'Come and see them Jack,' she said plainly, the silent pleading in her eyes giving her away.

Still watching Sam, Jack felt his insides twist at the look on her face. He stared down at the ground, his hands fidgeting in his pockets, and then back to her face. But just as he were about to say something, anything to erase the hint of desperation in those compelling blue eyes, a noise behind him drew them both from their intense exchange.

Turning in anticipation, Jack trained his eyes on the opening of the shelter where a rather short figure entered quietly, head lowered with weariness. Dog tired and concerned only with getting some sleep, it wasn't until Janet straightened her shoulders to peel off her outer garments that she realised there was somebody else in the tent besides Sam, Jen and the kids.

'General,' she acknowledged, surprised and somewhat sheepish, realising she had probably just interrupted the first real conversation between the couple in the last five months.

'Doc,' Jack returned, his voice low and gravelly again.

'I'm sorry,' Fraiser continued, drawing her cloak back over her shoulders. 'I'll just… uhh,' she made a move to leave.

'It's okay Janet,' Sam said quickly, but quietly.

'Stay where you are Doc,' Jack added. 'I was just leaving.' He ruffled the hair behind the back of his head. 'See you at 0800,' he said to his wife, shooting her one last look. And with that he was gone, nodding a curt farewell at Fraiser on his way out.

Lying on his stomach with his arms tucked under his chest and his head turned to one side, Patrick kept his eyes closed and tried to listen intently as his parents played their usual games. The sound of his father's voice had pulled him out of the shallow, half-sleep that had descended on him. He hadn't heard that voice for nearly five months and despite the fact that he was more than unhappy with his father at the moment, something inside Patrick tugged at the sound. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, his father's presence gave him strength, gave them all strength. If only his father knew. Patrick lay motionless, fading in and out of sleep as he eavesdropped on their conversation.

They didn't say much, and most of what they did say was hushed, so he could barely decipher the words. But he could follow the gist; it was the same every time. They sidestepped the important issue and never really accomplished anything. Yet somehow they both walked away from the conversation fairly agreeably. Like they understood something the others did not.

It always fascinated Patrick how much his parents could communicate non-verbally. Sometimes they didn't realise how wildly obvious it was to everyone else what was going on between them. Other times they wore their respective masks so well, he doubted even they could see beneath the surface.

One thing was for sure, however - his mother always remained the most level-headed. In fact, she was so clinical Patrick often found himself wishing she would crack a little, release some of the built-up emotions inside.

His father, on the other hand, had a fiery temper. And he wasn't afraid to use it. To be fair, he had rarely gotten angry at home before the war began. Except for the time that Hunter and his friends had been caught playing with some old Tau'ri weapons, the boys had never really witnessed his full temper. Even on that occasion he had softened strangely and backed away.

Since the war had begun, however, tensions had mounted. Especially after the kidnapping over a year ago, which Patrick still had nightmares about, and his father's subsequent reinstatement into the military. In Patrick's mind, the war had a lot to answer to. In fact, it had pretty much ruined his life.

Overcome with exhaustion, the young boy finally succumbed to sleep, the sound of his parents' voices snaking into his subconscious and resurfacing in his dreams. In his dreams, however, they sounded much, much happier.

The sun had not been awake long and the lake water was still chill from the evening air, which made it all the more refreshing – a little too refreshing for Sam. She had scrubbed her face and neck briefly, but refrained from immersing her entire body into the cool, calm depths – unlike her boys. She had insisted they immerse themselves to wash properly, but it hadn't taken much cajoling on her behalf. The three of them loved the water, Hunter especially. Patrick seemed to enjoy the tactile experience of it on his skin and would spend hours just sitting in the shallows or floating with his face to the sky. Hunter, on the other hand, would splash around – exploring or making mischief. And Ryan, well, he just liked to do whatever his brothers were doing. It was their father who had introduced Patrick and Hunter to the thrills of water recreation, and in his absence, the two of them had introduced the fun and games to Ryan.

Jack's face had shone with excitement like a child on Christmas day the first time they had set eyes on the Great Lake after realising they were destined to remain on Alarna. Since then much of their lives had revolved around it. In fact, most of Sam's fondest memories of life on Alarna occurred by the lake shore. As soon as Patrick and Hunter had been old enough Jack had them fishing and swimming every other day.

Although on Earth Sam had enjoyed the occasional relaxing bath, she had a more practical attitude towards the water – she used it to wash or exercise in and that was pretty much it. She had insisted on teaching the boys the correct techniques of swimming, including some safety instructions, despite Jack's complaint about that being 'boring' and 'unfun'. Judging by the easy way in which he caved, Sam figured she won that debate based on the effectiveness of her scant bathing outfit, not the effectiveness of her argument. Still, there was something deeply comforting about him sitting on the shore watching intently as she taught their sons to swim. Jack had always liked to watch her work. And, she shrugged, she had always liked the fact that he liked to watch her work.

Shaking her head in an effort to return to reality, Sam looked up from the large bowl of dirty bandages in front of her and out to the water. Hunter was up to his usual antics, running and belly skimming across the surface, sprays of water shooting out from around and behind him. Patrick was seated in the shallows gently washing Ryan who stood between his older brother's legs with his hand on Patrick's shoulders, laughing his little lungs out at the sight of Hunter scooting about like a duck – the tiredness of yesterday nowhere to be seen. There was only one thing missing from this picture, Sam sighed.

Placing the latest bundle of freshly rinsed bandages in a basket beside her, Sam reached for the bloody, infected pile and dropped a few more into the hot bowl of water in front of her. She added a few extra crystals and began to scrub, using a pair of smooth black stones to pound the bandages clean. The rhythmic method of stone washing came naturally to her now, despite the troubles she had originally endured trying to adapt to the Yalarnan lifestyle. She had carried out these tasks daily for the last seven or so years now, and although she sometimes jokingly grumbled about inventing some sort of mechanical washing machine, she wouldn't have it any other way.

As she finished the last pile of dressings and was gathering the clean laundry together, Sam heard bare feet squelching across the sand towards her hurriedly and turned to face her assailant.

'Mummm…' Hunter bowled into her side and threw his wet arms around her neck, tangling his hands in the ponytail of her long hair, water dripping all over her.

'Ooph,' she groaned, feeling some tenderness from yesterday's attack. It had been a while since she was involved in any direct warfare. Hunter was so physical, he couldn't just lightly tap her on the shoulder to get her attention, he had to literally ram into her.

'Watch this,' he suddenly leapt away from her again, tugging on her arm to pull her closer to the lake and make sure he had maintained her attention. 'Mummm… watch,' he bolted back into the water, this time not as deep as he had been.

'Okay… I'm watching,' Sam said, standing up and stepping closer to the shore.

She gasped as he quickly ducked his head as if he were about to dive, split his legs and kicked one of them in the air, spinning his whole torso and his other leg around in a 360 degree no-handed-cartwheel before landing back on his feet in the water. She had expected him to do a handstand or something simple, but this… was amazing. She gaped for a little longer, before realising he had continued with his little routine and was now doing a backflip. How had he learnt so much in one afternoon? He must have been watching the Jaffa train long before that. After he had finished his acrobatics display, Sam smiled widely and clapped.

'Neat huh?' Hunter grinned as he rushed out of the lake towards her, kicking showers of water as he ran.

'Oh… _very_ neat,' she smiled again, stroking his wet hair as he hugged her legs.

'Mummm?' he repeated, his voice muffled against her thighs.

'Yes?'

'When are we gonna see Dad?' Hunter blurted in one breath, craning his neck backwards so he could catch a glimpse of her response.

Sam jerked away a little and looked up, motioning for Patrick to bring Ryan so they could head back to the tents and get some food.

'I don't know sweety,' she replied as nonchalantly as possible, crouching down to face him. Hunter immediately put both his open palms on her cheeks and looked straight into her eyes.

'I wanna show him my moves,' he said enthusiastically.

Sam managed a weak smile. 'Tell you what… you keep practicing and by the time you see him, you'll be able to kick his butt.'

Hunter scrunched up his face in amusement and pulled his hands away from her cheeks before punching the sky with one fist, excitedly. 'Yeah,' he squealed, running around in circles. 'I'll kick his butt!'

* * *

AN: This was pretty tough to write, and I hope it captures the essence of the two characters well enough. It's so hard to write a conversation between them when so little is said and so much is shown. Hope it met your expectations. The next chapter may take me a little longer, sorry bout that, but I have to try and work on my other fic and there's a lot goin' on in RL for me at the mo. 

I know I sound like a broken record, but pls keep reviewing. It keeps me motivated! You can comment about anything at all. Big thanks to those of you who have.

Cheers for now.


	6. Chapter 6

ALARNA

Summary: This is non-canon, drama with Sam/Jack ship and hopefully some action/adventure thrown in. That's all I've figured out so far.

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing SG1 and their world, not for profit.

Rating:M (some violence, cussing and adult themes).

Dedicated to: My sister, who got me on to Stargate and is my motivation for writing fanfic.

CHAPTER SIX

As he entered the command tent, O'Neill stood scanning the 'heads of staff' before him, inconspicuously trying to find Carter's eager face in the crowd. Half way around the circle he stopped and honed in on Ham'lar, seated with the rest of them at the makeshift board table.

'What's he doin' here?' O'Neill griped, making no attempt to hide his contempt.

'He has a right to put forward his perspective,' Togaia, ever the mediator, chipped in.

O'Neill took his place at the table, scrunching his forehead into a squint at the Councillor's comment. For that, she could go first, he smiled to himself.

Despite the General's wishes, however, Councillor Togaia insisted Rak'nor begin with his account of the affair, considering he was the one who had alerted the officials after discovering part of the Zalarnan's attack force waiting at the ready outside the camp's perimeter.

Rak'nor had been visiting Jen and their kids on 'vacation' at Vanou when the attack occurred. He had been on leave for seven days when he and his family had come across a band of Zalarnan's hiding out at the south side of the camp, right near the exit point of one of Vanou's escape tunnels.

'Their position was informed, General O'Neill, and it appeared as though they had been settled for many hours.'

O'Neill shifted his eyes in Ham'lar's direction, but the Tok'ra was concentrating very hard on the empty table in front of him.

'Rak'nor,' Carter's voice interrupted O'Neill's malicious thoughts. 'Tell him about the weapons,' she finished, looking at her husband intently as if to highlight the importance of what the Jaffa was about to say.

'Weapons?' O'Neill tilted his head to the side. 'What about the weapons?'

'The Zalarnan's seemed inadequately armed for the takeover of an entire camp,' Rak'nor surmised. 'Although they knew the exit points of most of the tunnels, they seemed improperly outfitted for any sort of attack.'

'Meaning?'

'Rak'nor believes the Zalarnan's he and Lieutenant Hailey stumbled across were… partisans… sir,' Carter clarified, her voice faltering a little towards the end of her sentence.

'Partisans?' O'Neill's mind whirred as he studied his wife's exterior. He knew there was something there he should be picking up on.

'Like those we encountered in Uhllard, O'Neill,' Rak'nor indicated gently, knowing the General would not like being reminded of the incident.

A heavy cloud suddenly descended over O'Neill's face as the realisation settled and his mind filled with flashbacks. 'This just gets better and better,' he growled under his breath.

'We cannot assume,' Togaia broke the dark mood, 'that just because these assailants were partisans, that they want they same thing as those in Uhllard.'

The shadow over O'Neill's face grew gloomier. He opened the corner of his mouth to rebuke Togaia, but before he could, Carter conceded with the Councillor.

'I agree,' she said quickly but firmly. 'They're more than likely from an entirely different village, under an entirely different authority.'

'But all Zalarnan's follow the same directive,' Rak'nor contributed.

'Yes, but the partisans have more distinct objectives. They may share the same overall goal as the enlisted soldiers, but they also act according to their own needs,' Carter responded. 'Needs that change from place to place and from leader to leader,' she met her husband's eyes with confidence. 'We have no reason to believe that these guys were after the same thing as the others.'

'Besides,' Togaia picked up the argument. 'It's clear from their timing with the transport team that it's the Naquadah they were after.'

Carter and O'Neill exchanged glances. It was all sounding a little too coincidental. O'Neill leant backwards and placed his hands behind his head. 'I guess that leads us to you Hammy,' he said with scorn, his face twisted cynically. 'So… let's hear it,' he leant forward again, gesturing with his hands for the Tok'ra to begin.

Togaia, however, had other plans. She disrupted O'Neill's persecution with her own story of how Rak'nor and his family had returned from their interrupted day-trip to inform her and the other leaders of the threat. She proceeded to tell of the silent evacuation they had organised, of Ham'lar's arrival and of the ensuing attack.

'We sent scouts to the exit point of each tunnel. Only one of them, our most recently built, remained free from the partisans' watch. We began evacuating women and children immediately, without alerting the Zalarnan's. Those who could fight stayed behind to defend our retreat. With the number of soldiers we had on leave in the camp, we could have given the Zalarnan's some fierce competition. However, we had the children to think about and the enemy grew in number so quickly. As soon as the transport arrived, more of them emerged from the surroundings. It was like they had been watching and waiting for the right moment.'

'Indeed,' O'Neill interrupted sarcastically. 'But how did they know the transport would be coming to Vanou?' he looked at Ham'lar once more. 'A premonition perhaps? Some guiding wisdom from the almighty Zou?' There was an awkward pause from those present as all eyes turned to the Tok'ra.

'There was no premonition, nor any unexplained intervention,' Ham'lar finally decreed from the back of the tent.

'Go on,' O'Neill said incisively, giving his foe his full and serious attention.

'It was a trap,' Ham'lar's voice sounded bitter, like a man who'd been stabbed in the back by his best friend.

O'Neill wondered if that bitterness came from the fact that he had been deceived or from something else, something deeper.

'When we got to Vanou most of the civilians and the officials had already retreated. Just before the Zalarnan's began their assault I spoke briefly to one of the Jaffa warriors who questioned our arrival. It was then that I realised we had been set-up.'

'What made you realise?' Carter inquired.

'Approximately four hours before the attack we received a transmission from Camp Vanou.'

There were murmurs and head shakes as the others in the tent looked from one to the other, frowning and shrugging their shoulders with uncertainty. O'Neill watched Carter's response. She, too, seemed a little surprised, but there was something else, something more.

'There was no such transmission,' Togaia said finally, speaking for everyone.

'That is exactly what I discovered when I spoke to the Jaffa. Neither he, nor anyone from the camp knew anything about our arrival.'

'What was the transmission message?' Togaia asked.

'Or more importantly, who sent it?' O'Neill hammered across the board table.

Ham'lar drew back his shoulders and took a deep breath, as if trying to muster the courage to go on. 'We were advised to take an alternative route and travel through Vanou because of enemy forces detected near our original course,' Ham'lar avoided O'Neill's searing gaze. 'I do not know who contacted us. They did not give me their name, and I did not ask.'

'You just took it for granted they were from Vanou, like they said?'

'Yes.'

'Well, that there's your first mistake. And secondly, why didn't you inform the Councillor, or one of the other officials of the situation when you arrived?'

'There was no time. The Zalarnan's were upon us immediately.'

'What about during your, what was it, nine hour journey here?' O'Neill turned to the others in the room. 'Nobody thought to question him in that time?'

'We thought it unnecessary to interrogate Ham'lar at that stage,' Togaia replied decisively.

'Well, you didn't need to _interrogate_ him. A simple "what the hell are you doin' here" would have sufficed,' O'Neill's face was incredulous.

'We still had to retreat, regardless of the reason for the attack.'

'You could have been walking into another trap, or worse, you could have been bringing them here.'

'Clearly, that was, and is _not_ the case,' Togaia wouldn't budge.

'Not yet,' O'Neill retorted. In this circumstance he knew the Councillor was right, but he wanted to make his point. From what his scouts had reported that morning, the refugees _hadn't_ been followed; in fact, the Zalarnan's weren't even occupying the now deserted and destroyed Camp Vanou. They had demolished the tunnels and burnt the buildings to the ground, making it difficult for the coalition to rebuild, if they decided that was the solution. Actually, now that he thought of it, the destructive nature of the attack was typical of mob warfare, why hadn't he realised sooner?

'I do not believe the Zalarnan's will pursue the matter any further,' Ham'lar spoke out.

O'Neill waited a while before asking 'Why do you say that?'

There was no reply from the Tok'ra.

To O'Neill's right, Carter squirmed restlessly. He could tell, from years of studying her body language, that there was something she wanted to release, but couldn't. She kept flicking her attention between Ham'lar and her hands on the table in front of her. Carter rarely got restless. She was hopeless at containing her excitement and curiosity, but she was usually very good at keeping her impatience at bay, unlike him. He wondered why she didn't just let it out. Either this was the wrong forum to divulge whatever it was she was hanging onto, or she needed to corroborate her theory. O'Neill made a mental note to approach her immediately after this godforsaken debriefing was over. If she had something, he wanted to know about it.

After another hour of heated discussion, O'Neill was forced to wrap up the meeting. They had established one certainty – there was a traitor in their midst. How else could the Zalarnan's have known the exit points of the tunnels? Ham'lar said little and what he did say revealed nothing. He wasn't doing himself any favours by staying tight-lipped. O'Neill, for one, was convinced he was lying. The transmission story was _way_ too convenient. However, the General wasn't too concerned. Judging by the way Carter had been acting, she had a lead – and he had faith she would follow up on it.

Sure enough, as soon as the debriefing was finished, Carter left the tent before O'Neill even got out of his seat. It didn't help that as soon as he dismissed them all, Harriman was at his heels mumbling something in his ear about the armoury.

'Yeah, yeah, okay, okay,' the General muttered, despite listening to only about one percent of what Harriman had just told him. 'Give me a minute, will ya,' he shoved his seat away and strode out of the tent, hurriedly searching for Carter's blonde head among the people milling about outside. But it was too late; she was already on the hunt.

After leaving the command tent, Carter headed down the dune towards the heavily guarded Naquadah transport where she knew she would find Sergeant Siler. Without waiting she pulled him away from his work making alterations on the cart.

'Siler, there's something I need to ask you', she said, her eyes urgent.

Five minutes later her suspicions were confirmed.

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long guys. I stewed over this frellin' debriefing scene for weeks and weeks and weeks. This is about as good as it's gonna get. It's kinda short and boring, I know, but Chapter Seven will be up soonish, and it's more interestin' – I promise! So, please, bear with me.

As always, do let me know if there are any blaring inconsistencies, spellin' mistakes or other editin' mishaps. I'm sorry if the plot is a little loopholey at times, but I'm mostly makin' this up as I go along, so I guess it's bound to happen. If only I were more organised!

Anyway, enuf from me… enjoy! Thanks all for readin' and commentin'.


	7. Chapter 7

ALARNA

Summary: This is non-canon, drama with Sam/Jack ship and hopefully some action/adventure thrown in. That's all I've figured out so far.

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing SG1 and their world, not for profit.

Rating:M (some violence, cussing and adult themes).

Dedicated to: My sister, who got me on to Stargate and is my motivation for writing fanfic.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Between two rows in the sea of tents that was the camp site, Hunter and Ryan sat playing separately as they waited for Patrick to emerge from the supply shelter in front of them. Hunter had his back to Ryan and was digging three tracks of complex tunnels and jumps in the sand. His plan was to roll the little wooden balls he used for juggling down the tracks and see which ball won. Hopefully, it would keep him occupied for a couple of hours. As he worked, Hunter stuck his tongue out in concentration and occasionally yabbered aloud, hypothesising about the depth of the tunnels and the height of the jumps. Ryan, on the other hand, sat quietly by himself, his attention captured by a small black beetle scrawling across the sand towards the tent behind them, its scraggly legs leaving wiggly trails in the sand.

After a few minutes Patrick exited the supply tent with two large crates stacked in his skinny little seven year old arms. 'I gotta take this to the infirmary,' he stated quickly. 'Don't leave this spot. And make sure you watch him,' he ordered Hunter. 'I'll be five minutes, okay?'

''Kay,' the middle child mumbled, pre-occupied with his digging. He took a quick side glance at his baby brother who had his eyes on the sand, a playful expression on his face. Then he returned to his own project.

When Hunter spun around a few minutes later to dig from the other end of one of his tunnels, a brief flash of movement in the corner of his eye caused him to look up from his engineering to check on Ryan. All he saw was a stubby little leg disappearing underneath the back of the tent they had been sitting behind.

Huffing in exaggerated frustration, Hunter rather reluctantly left his game and scrambled towards the shelter, reaching out in front of him to try and grab Ryan's foot before it also vanished out of sight. But he was too late. Without hesitating, Hunter followed the foot, lifting the tent material a little and commando rolling under. If he lost Ryan, he would suffer at the hands of Patrick, and that was the worst punishment imaginable, bar being punished by their father. Hunter supposed, however, that he could bear being punished by his Dad this time round. In fact, he would do just about anything to see him. Even if it meant being naughty.

Inside the tent, Hunter expected Ryan to have crawled or tottered off already, away from his pursuer. However, after shaking the sand from his thin, fair hair, he looked up to find his baby brother standing right in front of him – one chubby fist clutched around the waist of his "hand me down" pants in order to keep them from falling around his ankles.

Ryan's other hand pointed a grubby index finger towards the front of the tent. With one eyebrow cocked in question and his mouth open in wonder, the little boy glanced from the front of the tent to Hunter and back to the front of the tent. He looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the right word for whatever it was he was studying so intently.

His vision blocked by a stack of crates, Hunter moved closer to his younger brother and followed the line of his extended finger towards the opening of the shelter. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, Hunter made out two figures talking. Slowly, after he examined their movements and listened closely to their voices, the realisation settled in. A warm, wide smile stretched across his face and he bolted forward on his energetic little legs.

Standing at the front of the tent was their father.

Jack had his back to the boys as he spoke to Harriman in the makeshift armoury. It wasn't until Hunter started barrelling towards them that the Sergeant saw the children either. Looking up from the ground, Harriman was surprised to see a human cannon heading straight for them. 'Uh…sir?' he interrupted Jack mid-sentence, nodding his head in the direction of their assailant. Puzzled by Harriman's unexpected interruption, Jack slowly turned his head to see what the Sergeant was eyeballing. He was just in time to spot a rush of movement in front of him and then feel the impact as his son rammed into his knees.

'Daddyyyyy,' Hunter bellowed as Jack grimaced in pain.

At the back of the tent, still standing with his mouth open and his finger pointing, Ryan repeated the moniker in a questioning tone. 'Dadd-uh?' he said softly, almost to himself, as if he were trying the word for the first time.

Pre-occupied by the human cannon now wrapped tightly around his legs, Jack didn't notice Ryan standing in the shadow of the stack of crates. He crouched down to Hunter's level and grabbed the boy around the upper arms, pulling him away from his body so he could look in his eyes.

'Hunter! What the hell are you doin' in here?' he said rather forcefully, shaking the boy a little. He didn't mean to be rough, but the kid's approach had taken him by surprise, and the situation being what it was, well, one couldn't help but be on edge.

Unperturbed by his father's reaction, Hunter grinned and writhed in Jack's tight grip, trying to point towards the spot where Ryan now sat. 'Ry found you,' he replied.

'Ryan?' Jack questioned in surprise, loosening his grip on Hunter and looking up.

'Sir,' Harriman started.

Jack turned to look at the Sergeant, who stood pointing with his eyes to the back of the stucture. Following Harriman's line of sight Jack eventually made out Ryan's figure, sitting comfortably in the sand, his attention focused on the open palm of his hand.

After spotting Ryan, Jack let go of Hunter's arm completely and strode towards the toddler. He couldn't figure out how they had gotten in without him knowing. When he reached Ryan he realised the child was playing with something in his hand – something that looked like a beetle.

'Hey big guy,' he greeted, wincing a little as he bent to scoop the boy into his arms. 'Whatcha got there?'

Ryan, who didn't much enjoy being held by anyone but his mother and possibly his oldest brother, seemed okay in Jack's strong embrace. He didn't wriggle or react adversely, just stayed quiet and stuck out his hand to tip the bug into Jack's.

'A Sana bug, 'ey?' Jack's grimace increased as he got a better look at the beetle. 'Great,' he muttered under his breath. 'Just what we need.'

'Lemme see, lemme see,' Hunter squawked. He had trailed close behind Jack and was now standing on tip toes tugging at his father's trouser leg, craning his neck for a look at the creature. 'Has it got teeth?' he asked excitedly.

Jack raised his forehead and looked at Hunter in mock horror. 'Has it got teeth?' he teased. 'Of course it has teeth! Big, nasty canines,' he exaggerated in amusement, playfully snarling his teeth like a wild dog.

'Lemme see, lemme see,' Hunter raised his voice higher, his face etched with excitement.

Jack closed his mouth and grinned with tight lips. He lowered his arm for Hunter to coax the bug into his own hand, the whole time looking at Ryan as if to say – 'can you believe this guy?'

Meanwhile Ryan had placed both hands on Jack's jaw and was tentatively brushing his fingers backwards and forwards over his father's two day stubble, as if testing to see if the man truly was his father. 'Dadd-uh,' he said again, more confidently this time and without question.

Stumped by the affectionate touch of his baby son, Jack could do nothing but jig him in his arms gently, place his forehead in Ryan's hair and inhale the scent of him. All that mattered was this.

After O'Neill had dismissed Harriman, he took the boys outside and turned to Hunter to begin grilling him about how they had gotten into the tent. But before he could ask, they were interrupted by shouting from behind the armoury.

'Hunterrrrr… Hunterrrrr…'

Jack looked to his most mischievous son. 'Sounds like you're in trouble, Sparky.'

Hunter was already frozen to the spot. 'It weren't my fault,' he rushed. 'Ry crawled under the tent and I had to follow 'cause if I didn't he woulda got lost and then I'd be in bigger trouble and…'

'Yeah yeah, blame it on the two year old,' Jack stuck his head out around the side of the shelter, searching for his eldest son. 'Just let me do the talkin', okay?' he scruffed Hunter's already unruly hair affectionately, garnering a half hearted grin.

Jack took his six-year-old's hand, and the trio followed the sound of Patrick's voice until they found him searching under tent flaps where he had left the two boys. Whirling around in frustration with an angry look on his face, Patrick stopped in his tracks when he saw the three of them standing to the side. Ignoring Jack completely he threw his hands up at Hunter.

'Where the hell have you been?' he swore, his face turning slightly red with rage.

'Hey,' Jack reacted, he could see now why Hunter was uneasy about facing his brother. 'Easy Paddy,' he'd never witnessed the older boy's temper until now.

Ignoring his father once more, Patrick continued to discipline his sibling. 'I told you to stay where you were,' he barked, moving closer to Hunter, who increased his grip on his father's hand.

'Hey!' Jack said again, more vigorously this time. 'That's enough, Paddy.'

Gaining some courage, Hunter lunged forward a little, as if he were driving a sword at his brother. 'It weren't my fault,' he spoke up, returning very quickly to his father's side.

'Didn't I say I'd do the talking?' Jack raised his eyebrows.

'That's a joke,' Patrick scoffed under his breath, stepping forward to reach out to Ryan who was now sitting quite comfortably on Jack's arm, toying with the sunglasses around his father's neck. 'Come on Ry, we gotta get back to Aunty Jen,' Patrick persuaded. 'Ry,' the eldest boy stretched his arms out further, wriggling his fingers up at his baby brother. 'Let's go, come on.'

Distracted for a second, Ryan looked up, stuck out his bottom lip and shook his head. 'Dadd-uh,' he said once more for good measure, pressing his finger hard into Jack's chest.

Jack watched in stunned silence as Patrick spun his back on the three of them, a hint of hurt creeping across the seven-year-old's face. Since when had his 'old reliable', best fishing buddy and chess partner become so angsty?

'Fine!' Patrick snapped. 'Stay with him then,' he stormed off, back in the direction of the parade ground.

'Paddy!' Jack called after him, taking a few jerky steps in the sand. He had forgotten how heavy a two year old was. 'Paddy! Come back here, will you?' But Patrick had begun running and even if he had heard, he wasn't about to stop.

'Aw crap,' Jack muttered inaudibly, closing his eyes with defeat. It seemed he had a lot of mending to do in that department. A minute ago, everything had seemed so clear. Now his vision was clouded once more.

When O'Neill opened his eyes again, Hunter stood watching the space where Patrick had run off, his fist clenched closed, presumably with the Sana bug still alive inside.

'He doesn't like being called Paddy, you know,' the middle child announced out of nowhere, as if that were the reason Patrick had fled.

'Since when?' Jack retorted. 'I've always called him Paddy.'

'Exactly!' Hunter replied nonchalantly. His point made, he returned his attention to the imprisoned beetle.

A little astonished by Hunter's logical insight, O'Neill stood stock still, shaking his head in disbelief. It was all to much for his over-exercised brain.

Carter found Ham'lar sitting alone by the lake, two 'chaperones' at the rear, within eyesight but out of earshot. As she approached, Ham'lar made no move, waiting for her to reach his side before he acknowledged her presence.

'I knew you would come,' he said calmly and with a touch of what Carter perceived as relief.

Had she been that obvious, she thought as she crouched down beside him. 'You know why I'm here?' she asked, genuinely shocked.

Ham'lar didn't reply.

'You lied about the transmission,' Carter continued after a moment, blurting out what she had been meditating over all night.

Ham'lar almost smiled, a sad sort of smile. 'Selmak was right about you, Samantha Carter,' he said softly. 'You are a very wise and perceptive young woman.'

Carter winced at the mention of her father but crusaded on, not willing to give up her investigation. 'The communication device you had with you was the same one that Camp Vanou was issued with last year,' she explained. 'We were able to transmit messages, but we couldn't receive them without sending one first. I remember distinctly that Sergeant Siler reallocated the device to your transport team after it was decided that Vanou was in need of a more reliable service,' she took a breath.

'You have a good memory, Colonel Carter,' Ham'lar sighed. 'I knew it was only a matter of time before you saw through my fabrication.'

'But why did you lie?'

'You don't believe I am a traitor?' he asked dubiously.

'No.'

'General O'Neill seems set to prosecute me. As he should,'

Again, Carter sensed something sad in Ham'lar's words, something like remorse, or was it despair? She couldn't quite put her finger on it. 'I don't always subscribe to General O'Neill's opinions,' she responded, taking a moment to think. 'In fact, I rarely do.'

In any other situation, she might have garnered a warmer smile from the Tok'ra. But as it was, Ham'lar no longer felt the need to make light of the situation.

'I'm glad it was you, Colonel, who came to me, for I know you will comprehend. You have after all, been in a similar situation.'

'Comprehend what?'

'It may take a while to explain. I doubt you have time to listen to our story right at this moment.'

'Ham'lar, I want to know the truth. Now. No matter what it takes.'

'You want the truth Colonel?' the Tok'ra lowered his chin to his chest and raised it again, his eyes glinting as his host, a Yalarnan by the name of Fehr, took control of the body. 'The truth is – I was a fool.'

A/N: Hello everyone, and thanks for the comments. Happy Easter (for those of you who celebrate it). I'm going away for the weekend so I wanted to get this up now, hopefully you'll find the time to read it over the break. I found this chapter so much easier to write and I hope you find it easier to read!

trtlsoup2001: Thanks for the tip. I never thought about the use of single quotation marks – it was always the way I was taught to write. However, I can see where it would be confusing and I will be using double quotation marks as of Chapter Eight. Thanks again, much appreciated.

Cheers and enjoy. Be safe and don't eat too much chocolate!


	8. Chapter 8

ALARNA

Summary: This is non-canon, drama with Sam/Jack ship and hopefully some action/adventure thrown in. That's all I've figured out so far.

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing SG1 and their world, not for profit.

Rating:M (some violence, cussing and adult themes).

This Chapter dedicated to: all of you wonderful readers who have hung in there waiting for the next installment – thank you for your kind words and sorry it has been so long.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Dad, dad – can we go to the lake? Please Dad? Pleaaassseee? There's this really neat spot with a big hill and you can slide down the sand straight into the water. Even Ry can slide, but I have to help him of course. You shoulda seen him this mornin'... he couldn't stop laughin' and he had sand all over his face and Mum said…"

"Hey, Sparky! Cool it already," O'Neill ordered, but not without allowing himself a small chuckle. He had missed Hunter's noise. It was a large part of what made his middle son, his middle son.

Surprisingly the boy stayed silent, for a moment.

The three of them were walking from tent to tent in search of Patrick. Ryan still sat snug on O'Neill's arm while Hunter hop-skipped and jumped alongside, trying to match his father's stride.

"Dad…watch this," the six year old perked up again.

"Not now Hunter," O'Neill was beginning to worry about his oldest son. They had tried the infirmary, the mess and pretty much the entire parade ground. As they wandered around the camp, people took notice of them, pointing with their eyes and whispering amongst themselves. Finally, O'Neill admitted he needed back-up. If only he could find Sam.

And then, like an apparition, she stood before them.

"Mummmm," Hunter hollered his usual greeting and ran towards her. This time Carter was ready for him and braced herself. "Look who we found," he added beaming back at Jack, a magnificent smile stretched across his face.

Sam nodded at her middle child and murmured, eyeing O'Neill and Ryan with relief. She had wondered how the toddler would react to his father again after such a long time apart.

"Where have you been?" O'Neill asked tiredly, swapping Ryan to his other arm.

"We need to talk," she replied.

O'Neill almost laughed. "No! Really?" There was a pause as Carter stepped closer and took the toddler from her husband's arms with ease, careful not to make contact. For a second the two of them stayed near, musing over the short space between them and the small amount of effort it would take to reach out and touch one another.

"I kinda lost Paddy," Jack said quickly, breaking the closeness. He couldn't handle the intensity.

"You know, he doesn't like being called Paddy anymore," Carter corrected, almost apologetically. Like it was her fault the boy was peeved with his father.

"Yeah, well…" O'Neill rubbed his hand over his face. "I kinda lost _Patrick_ then."

Carter bit her lip. Why had she said that? They both looked away.

This time it was her who ended the silence. "He'll be fine," she said confidently. Patrick often wandered off alone. He liked to spend time by himself. Oddly, it didn't worry her when he disappeared for a few hours, in fact, to be honest, the first couple of times it happened she hadn't even noticed he had gone. She felt guilty for that afterwards, but soon realised it was only because he kept such a low profile. Even when he _was_ around he rarely made his presence known. "He'll come back in his own time." Ruffling Hunter's hair playfully, Sam looked at her two youngest boys. "How 'bout we get some lunch?" she offered, looking at Jack as she finished speaking.

Jack, who hadn't eaten since the day before, thought that was a brilliant idea.

As did Hunter. "Yeah!" he yelled, jumping up and down on the spot. "I'm starving."

Grinning from ear to ear, Jack motioned with his arm. "Okay then 'starving'… lead the way!"

* * *

Author's note: I am so sorry to all of you for draggin' this out so long. A lot has happened to me over the last year and a bit, making it hard to continue. I could have just thrown together a weak excuse for a chapter, to keep you all happy, but I wanted to do it right. Hence, the wait. I'm also sorry if I didn't reply to your comments – I'm not very confident with the fanfic messaging system – will have to work on that. This is only a very short chapter I know, and doesn't divulge much info – but I had to give you something. Pls keep pushin' me to write the rest. Enjoy! 


End file.
